


fragment

by raviiel



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Post-Calamity Ganon, Post-Canon, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviiel/pseuds/raviiel
Summary: Link chases a fallen star.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	fragment

It slices through the sky when Link is setting up camp in the Forest of Time for the night, streaking gold over the thick canopy he'll rely on for cover while resting. Face turned upwards, his cerulean eyes reflect the trajectory before a distant crash echoes from the southwest. Huh. He's never been close enough to hear the fragment crash before, and it sounds like it landed on the Great Plateau. No one is around to see his grimace.

He considers his belongings; most of his gear is already unloaded save for his weapons that always come off last. He doesn't _really_ feel like loading it all back up because yes, of course he's going up to get the star fragment. That's valuable stuff! Its variety of uses is unparalleled, and it's not like they fall out of the sky every night! Besides, no one is around to steal—even if they were, he'd just replace the loss without a fuss. Any monsters that may have scavenged around are long gone from the forest and the nearby ruins of the Plateau Outpost thanks to _Operation: Loftwing_ anyway.

 _Loftwing_ is the code name for Hyrule's restoration operation, one that's been in effect for about a year now.

After the Calamity, Zelda had been determined to pull the Kingdom together again and return the land to its people, and as it turned out, its people were ready to have their land returned to them. Hyrule's population had suffered massive losses at the resurgence of the Calamity and would continue to suffer through the rise of human-preying beasts and methodical eradication carried out by corrupted Guardians. Above all though, Hyrule has always been resilient, and in the following century, survivors crawled into holes, kept their heads down, and through this, slowly rebuilt themselves.

Now, with the Calamity vanquished, the land is steadily purging itself of any lingering sickness—hence, Link's part in _Operation: Loftwing,_ scouting settlement ruins to rid them of any monsters. No matter her reluctance about letting him leave her side, Zelda positioned him among the country where he'd be most useful and familiar with the work. Towns can't be rebuilt if they and the nearby areas are infested, and Zelda had to face it: Link is the best at what he does, slaying monsters and protecting people.

Whatever prestigious role Zelda has inevitably prepared for him that might parallel his previous life isn't... a shape he can fit into anymore. She's his dearest friend, a blessing he'll never take for granted, who he'd do anything for, but now he yearns for freedom and the wild only. He appreciates her trying her best to understand that and does everything he can to prove this is where he's most useful to her.

He shakes his head.

The night's not getting any younger, and that fragment will be gone by dawn's first light. He shrugs; his stuff will be fine.

Without a second thought, he pulls up the Sheikah Slate and teleports to the Great Plateau Tower. Up top, he scans the landscape for the telltale beacon of the star fragment, but perplexity soon furrows his brow when he can't find it. Midnight was only a few minutes ago; that beam should be blindingly visible against the dark. He frowns.

_Can't have worn myself down that much..._

Shaking himself off for renewed vigor, he rubs his eyes and searches again, but golden light still avoids the air. Maybe it _had_ been his imagination.

...What's that? Link squints, vision adjusting after a few seconds.

From the razed roof of the Temple of Time, a faint glow illuminates the atmosphere and draws a confused hum from him to accompany his puzzled expression. Never one to turn down curiosity, he does what he always does: follows impulse.

Jumping, he paraglides from the tower to the tall, open entrance of the temple. As he lands, it occurs to him that the statue of the Goddess tends to glow from a distance sometimes and usually fades as he closes in on it, but has he ever seen it light up all the way from the tower before?

It's a kind of call, something that happens whenever She has something to share with him—usually an urge to exchange his Spirit Orbs for vitality, but it's been a long time since he's done that. Why would She call him now?

Thoughts and scenarios flood his mind, chilling his spirit, but they vanish as quick as they'd come. He roughly shakes his head to empty out the intrusion. No use in overthinking.

Warily, Link approaches Her, Her glow fading the same as always. Nothing jumps out at him or explodes the farther his feet take him, and he's about to write the whole thing off until something—vibrant against the cool stone of the Goddess and her miniatures—grabs his eye: muddled green, gold, and stray limbs slumped against one of the statues. A _person._

The gold is hair fallen over their face by the forward drop of their hair, and the green is their clothes torn in places, striking against the muted life of the ravaged temple. Link immediately draws conclusions.

They're Hylian, a traveler, and some kind of warrior. Their ears poke out from their hair, farther and sharper than any he's ever seen; their thick boot leather is worn down by scuffs and years of use; harnesses strap their body as holsters meant for tools, notably weapons, as well as utility pouches on the torso belt. Taking refuge in this old place? But something seems... wrong.

 _Yiga,_ his mind supplies, but that can't be right because _no one,_ not even them, comes up here. In the last century, in fact, Link has been the only one to walk on the Plateau.

Steps feather-light, he approaches the body, not wanting to startle them awake. Why fall asleep sitting up? His careful hand reaches out—

A dagger sings through the air and Link leaps away from it. His bow and arrow are already at the ready by the time he lands, aimed dead-center at a snarling face that stupefies him.

It's been a while since he's looked in a genuine mirror at his own reflection (in the wilds, a clean shield or clear water will usually do the trick), but this is more uncanny than that could ever be. Golden hair, blue eyes, sunbathed skin—the features, the nose, the ears, the _earrings—_

The bleeding. Link's eyes widen. Now that he's noticed it, it looks _bad._

"Bleeding," he blurts, looking pointedly at the arm the young man has wrapped tight around his midsection. Confusion and feral wrath contort the other's face. He's hurt, and Link likely hadn't helped by sneaking up on him like that. He knows the act: attack anyone who approaches after putting them off guard by feigning sleep. Monsters have fallen for it more than once in dire situations. How could he have not noticed—smelled, even—the blood before? It's obvious now—on his clothes, on visible skin, as the trail leading to his body, as well as stains on statue behind him. He's on the untamed defensive because he's _hurt,_ and Link isn't doing anyone any good by aiming an arrow at his brain.

Carefully, he steps back and slowly lowers his bow.

"Won't attack," he promises, but that same confusion pinches the stranger's face again, almost like he doesn't understand.

Movements measured, Link slips the arrow back into its quiver and the bow onto his back. He raises his hands and shows his palms. The stranger scrutinizes him, grip vice on his dagger that's held expertly to defend himself from any angle regardless of injury. He adjusts his damaged kneel and grunts out pain, agony scrunching his face. Link winces in empathy, and then curses himself. Of all the times to leave his supplies somewhere else…

If only his travel medallion were activated back at the Forest of Time instead of on Zelda—she'd kept it in case he had needed to be back at her side in an instant.

 _Hylia, if there was ever a time I wanted to cash in one of my_ _thousand_ _favors…_ He eyes Her, but of course. She remains silent. His rolls his eyes.

"Okay," he holds up his hands, "wait here. Be back."

How he wishes the Temple of Time were one of the places he hid supplies in across Hyrule. Unfortunately, he staunchly avoids the Plateau as much as possible. Why come back here when so many other places need him?

The stranger doesn't relax at all, encouraging the creeping hunch that Link isn't being understood. What if the stranger tries to escape as soon as Link leaves for supplies?

Thoughts race through his mind; if he leaves, monsters who can smell the blood might pile on the stranger, he could just bleed out, or he could accidentally stumble right off a ledge from the blood loss. Any number of things could happen, he laments.

Realization perks his brows.

Quickly, he pulls up his sleeve and points out the bandages wrapped around his wrist—a shallow wound from a spear-wielding Bokoblin that had a reach just far enough. The stranger's clouding blue eyes flick between the treated wound and Link, and Link points between it and him, and then to the distance.

"I'll help. You wait. Okay?" His hand forms an _Okay?_ sign.

The stranger finally collapses back, heaving what sounds like a begrudging gasp. Wordlessly, he nods back.

Not wasting a single second, Link warps back to the Plateau tower, immediately diving off the moment his feet hit solid ground. He can't remember the last time urgency spurred him on like this—back before he defeated the Calamity, maybe. It's not a feeling he's missed.

He lands just outside the forest's perimeter and dashes in, weaving between the strong trunks to get back to his abandoned camp. He may have to set up on the Plateau, depending on if the stranger will be mobile or not when Link is finished treating him. Hopefully they can at least move somewhere that _isn't_ the Temple of Time or near the Shrine of Resurrection. He'll grit and bear it if he has to.

Gathering up every piece of medical supplies he has, Link returns to paraglide off the Plateau Tower one more time. He hurries back to the temple, only to skid to a stop at a familiar whirring and probing noise. His blood runs cold.

Blocking his view of the Goddess Statue is a fully functional Guardian Stalker—and by the sound of it, it's scanning for his wounded warrior. Thankfully, Link _always_ keeps Ancient arrows on him in case of these surprises.

Dropping everything at once, he dashes for the gaping hole in the temple's left side and shoves his pinkies into his mouth to whistle. The Stalker's head whirls around, magenta malevolence brightening on its body, and crawls at him with unnerving speed until its doom laser is zeroed in at his heart like he'd pointed his bow at the stranger earlier.

Preparing himself with a breath, Link sprints to lead it away from the temple and jumps off the ledge. The Stalker follows with killer intent, and he can hear the laser about to go off. He throws up his shield and Daruk's Protection instantly cages him, and not a second later, its beam fires and the shield shatters. Link jerks his bow out and nocks an Ancient arrow right as the beam begins charging for a second blast, death in the undulating dyad light of the Guardian's sole eye.

Rolling his own two, he frees the arrow.

The Stalker's head twirls in malfunction, its body collapses, and then the whole thing promptly explodes. Without time to spare on collecting the Ancient parts (don't worry, he'll be back for them), he rushes back to the temple.

"Oy," he calls with hands cupped around his mouth, hurrying back to the statues. This time, he searches for the blood, praying it won't lead him to a splattered body instead.

Hylia seems to have mercy on him today because the second time he calls out, he gets a response—albeit by way of pained groan from behind the statues. Link rushes around, finding the stranger doubled over behind the Goddess Statue, gasping. Link's approach starts him, and Link quickly throws his hands up again.

"Just me, just me," he says, showing harmless palms.

The stranger strings sounds together—words, maybe, accompanied by gestures that resemble a sign language, but Link can't understand. Be it the slurred words or something else, he starts to suspect they might not speak the same language. Speculation will have to wait.

"Need to treat you," he goes on, showing his wrist bandage again, and then holds out his arms to show that he wants to pick the stranger up.

Rightfully, the stranger looks a mix of wary and, _Are you serious?_ and Link can't help but impatiently respond with, "Yes, I'm serious," which he seems to understand. Link watches stubbornness work in his jaw for a long moment, thinking his help will be rejected but the young man finally breathes out heavily in resignation. He nods. Relieved, Link moves forward.

Gently as he can, he works his arms around the stranger's body, noting that he's taller and heavier but of a similar build. They could be brothers, he thinks vaguely.

And then the stranger keels.

  
  


Suffice to say, Link panics.

_Oh, sweet Hylia. Din, lend me strength._

He's no medical magician, not even a medical... whatever an apprentice to a magician might be called that starts with the same letter, to sound clever. He only knows as much as he does because _obviously,_ he has to _survive,_ and that's been through makeshift splints, stitches, casts, torques, and trial and error over herbs, strange liquids, and poultice ingredients. Basically, he's lucked his way through living until now. He's also got Shrine monks, rosette fairies, and Mipha to thank; he'd be cold in an early grave without them.

To the point, on his own, Link is useless.

But that isn't good enough for the young man in green, so Link pulls it together and does what he does best: get lucky.

The stranger seems to be in a similar boat when it comes to medical attention; makeshift bandages out of whatever he could find that wouldn't poison him, as well as tearing from his familiar green tunic to use as any sort of wrap. Link mostly ignores their off-putting similarities in favor of their differences, more of which he begins to uncover as he treats the stranger.

The gold of his own hair is more muted than the vibrant strands of the young man's, which is parted at the center; his ears are the longest Link's ever seen on a Hylian; when checking his pupils, he found his irises are a deeper blue, and his lashes longer at the tips; his nose had a deeper curve and longer tip, though their shape was the same. Their differences are a relief—Link almost entertained the stupid idea that this person could somehow be an alternate version of him from, say, a different dimension.

The scarring, though... The scarring is just as plentiful.

  
  


By the time Link is done, it's well past two in the morning. He's exhausted, having applied everything he knows and learned on his own adventures to saving this guy's life. The biggest worry is that gash in his side—a clear wound from a Stalker beam, which Link thinks he must've outran earlier, only for it to find him again. Which reminds him: another thing on the Kingdom's restoration agenda should be researching how to de-condition whatever Guardians became hard-wired to target innocent people.

Just one thing after another, he supposes.

Link sinks onto the overgrown temple floor, mutely groaning and wincing as his spine protests against realigning parallel to the flat stone.

With his new ward in a state of seeming stability (and hopefully, it'll stay that way), Link allows himself to unwind and breathe out evenly, breath puffing into the cool night air. He languidly blinks a few times, looking towards the sky and tracing mindless patterns into the millions of shining stars. So much for that fragment... He wonders if one can be used in a healing elixir.

He thinks of his belongings back down in the forest. He _could_ bring all of it here and set up for the night... Or he could just stay here and sleep. Though, the young man at least needs something softer to rest on than the cold, hard ground. The best Link can do without expelling a whole bunch of energy he doesn't have at the moment is take off his cloak, fold it up, and tuck it under the man's heavy head.

Sitting back on his haunches, Link studies him under the moonlight. His sleep-addled mind can only repeat things like, _Weird, Strange, Weird, Strange, Hmm,_ over and over again. Weird. Strange. He needs some sleep, maybe this will all make more sense in the morning.

The choice between coming and going isn't hard, and he eventually finds himself lying back on the ground.

  
  


Still, the choice _does_ mean his body won't thank him ever at all, but it's fine. _It's fine,_ he lies to himself as he strains to sit up, every muscle protesting. Sunlight had been gleaming on his face, refusing to let him sleep anymore anyway.

He glances around. The Temple of Time...? Why would he _ever_ rest up here?

Then it rams into him all at once. His star fragment hadn't been a star fragment at all—but a whole, hurt, human person. Sleep snaps off him entirely. He scours the temple interior, but no gold, no green, no one.

Link leaps onto his feet and cups his mouth, moving at the exit.

"Oy!"

His alarm is for nothing; practically stumbling out of the temple, he spots his guy off to the left, inspecting decayed Guardians petrified mid-attack to decimate the little left of the building that stood. He shows no signs of having heard Link, but Link won't be played a second time. His organs are fine where they are, thanks. He clears his throat.

"Oy."

The man's arm is still wrapped around his midsection, more for security than sharp pain, Link can tell. He's not dead, so Link counts the morning as a win.

The aura around him lacks that primal, vicious vigilance from last night, leaving Link less likely to be mauled if he approaches, so he's ginger about it. His steps are calculated in leisure and volume, loud enough to let the man know he's coming, but not loud enough to be a threat, and he joins his side at the pile of stone and dirt that is the decayed Guardian's pedestal.

He seems deep in thought, thoroughly inspecting the dead shell. Link is uncannily reminded of himself when he'd first seen one.

 _That's fair,_ he tells himself. Without their murderous activation, they're incredible, awesome contraptions.

The young man motions to it, speaking with his mouth and hands. It sounds like a question he's asking, but Link can only blink at him. His brain then belatedly registers the word _"creature."_

_...Oh._

Hylian is Link's native language. He knows it inside-out, as well as all the dialects thanks to his travels. He doesn't use it as much, but he probably knows it better than almost anyone else—yet none of those words other than _"creature"_ are recognizable. They sound... like Hylian if it were described it to someone who'd never spoken before and then had been told to speak it fluently.

It's not only Hylian he has to reference either; thanks to his previous incarnation as an esteemed knight, he also knows Zorana, Gerudi, Goro, and Ritian. Name it from Hyrule and he knows it, so why can't he recognize _this?_ It's like pseudo-Hylian. Even the signs aren't familiar, and Hylian Sign Language is universal, even if it's the only sign language in the land he knows.

"I..." he lets out, slightly frustrated, and then he remembers. "Oh."

The Sheikah Slate has a whole set of Minor Runes, lesser functions that don't bend reality, and though he's never had to use it, one of them is definitely a translator. He just hopes to the Trinity that it can tell him what language he apparently doesn't know. He'll really have to thank Purah's efforts, even if it costs him too many Ancient parts.

He puts up a quick finger and pulls the Slate up, and the young man studies it as he fiddles towards the translation function. A noise of success escapes him, and he turns to the young man again.

"Okay. Again?" He asks hopefully.

The young man is quick on the uptake after glancing between him and the Slate, and needlessly leans into the device. His voice, Link notes for the first time, is raspy in quality, like he doesn't use it a lot either.

The Slate translates, and his heart jumps at the mechanical voice.

_"What is this creature?"_

On the Slate's screen, he inspects the parameters of the Rune, one of which is the name of the original language. His eyes widen.

 _Ancient Hyli—What do you mean, Ancient Hylian?!_ He gapes back at the young man but doesn't get a reaction in return, only blankness in place of an expression.

"Ancient... Hylian..." He repeats to himself, because the notion isn't processing. No one speaks that anymore, and _which_ form are they even talking about? Zelda knows more about this stuff than him, but if memory serves (and... it usually doesn't) Hylian has gone through at least three major evolutions, and none of them have been in the last century.

The man speaks again, which the Slate automatically translates.

_"Are you okay?"_

Link shakes off his bafflement and sets the Slate to translate back.

"How come you speak a dead language?"

The man blinks at him, mouthing to himself something the Slate can't hear.

 _"I don't understand,"_ he finally responds. _"Hylian is my second tongue."_

"Second..." Link repeats again. "Your first?"

His mouth opens like he has an immediate answer, only for it to close again with a stubborn refusal to reply. Link's eyes narrow.

Alright... Something's going on here. Discomfort begins to churn in his gut because a few things about this are strange.

One: This man doesn't know what a Guardian is— _everyone_ knows what a Guardian is, even if they live under a rock. On top of that, the Stalker is the most notable, ubiquitous model, it being a living nightmare and all even from a distance.

Two: He speaks an ancient form of Hylian, one that even predates ten millennia. They don't even teach dead languages in _schools_ anymore, Link is pretty sure.

Three, and most unnerving: Link had come up here expecting to find a shooting star. Instead, he found this guy, who, yeah, _is_ Hylian, but isn't like any Hylian _Link_ knows. He likes to think he knows most Hylians these days, and he's never met one who could pass for his own sibling like this.

_"...What is your name?"_

Link startles out of his thoughts and looks at the man, who isn't looking back at him—instead, his line of sight is suddenly sewn on his gear. Full of nerves, Link swallows thickly. Boy, his eyes sure are burning holes into his holsters where the Hylian Shield and Master Sword are strapped. He opens his mouth.

"I... Link. It's Link."

Fatigue suddenly breaks the man's taut posture, his injuries looking like they're getting the best of him. Link yelps and braces him as he all but collapses onto the shattered stone at the foot of the Guardians.

"Are you okay?!" He panics, hoping his tending didn't end up killing the man instead of helping him.

The man looks hard at the ground for a long moment, arm wound tighter around his side. Though the angle isn't great, Link knows that shadow in his face: resignation to one's fate.

 _"I must be in a parallel dimension,"_ the Slate voices out of nowhere, and Link freezes. The young man, practically his twin, looks up at him, weariness older than ten millennia darkening his eyes.

Hylia only glows when She has something for Link, when she wants Link to do something for her. She called him here, and now... all this. His stomach sinks.

 _"My name is Link,"_ says the Slate, and though it's without intonation, age-old exhaustion rings through it. _"And you have my sword and shield."_

**Author's Note:**

> if you're a fan of Linked Universe you probably read this whole thing with that in mind and yes i am also a fan of Linked Universe but no this has nothing to do with that and is instead something like a prelude to a huge story i have not and probably unfortunately will not write. maybe. if it ends up having to do with Linked Universe just forget i ever said this lmfao
> 
> comments are encouraging :^)


End file.
